


Subharmonica

by orchestralstab



Series: Falling [5]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 20:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10726761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchestralstab/pseuds/orchestralstab
Summary: “Everything’s about us,” he agrees. “But tonight’s specifically about the first letter of us.”





	Subharmonica

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the soccer match on Prodromos but before the 'Lover's Leap' date, and immediately after 'Hunting the Archon'.

Avery’s pretty sure she’s close to being done. Just fucking straight up, fuck everything, fuck _you_ d o n e.

She’s not, of course she’s not. But she’s feeling grumpy enough to entertain the thought in that weird little part of her brain that’s over-emotional and illogical and easily hurt. It’s a teeny-tiny part, only about 17%, but at the moment it’s clouding her judgement and her usually stellar ability to detach herself from the whole ‘making-decisions-for-the-entire-Initiative-and-pissing-people-off-in-the-process’ thing. Because, seriously? “Had to grab a few more salarians on the way out”? Fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck them all. She’s _done_. (She’s not.)

She sighs heavily and rests her head down on her desk.

This whole fucking thing… ugh. She doesn’t have the words to describe how clusterfucky that was. And all she wants to do is sleep, just be fucking comatose for another 600 years because she’s tired, so damn tired. But she’s also wound up tighter than when her service with the Alliance was forced to end – so tight she has to keep actively reminding herself to unclench her jaw – and there’s not a chance she’s going to be able to get to sleep when she’s this fucking stressed.

She lifts her head and looks at her computer screen. The few words she’s managed to write stare back at her, accusing and inadequate, and no way is she going to be able to send a report like this back to the Nexus. She may not give over a lot of herself to the concern of professionalism (maybe 7%?) but even she knows that “Fuck you, you make me do this shit and I’m so done with y’all” is not going to work in her favour in any way whatsoever.

“SAM, I don’t think I can do this,” she says.

“The report?”

“Yeah,” she says, “but also, y’know … _everything_.”

“I can summarise the logs of the mission for you and then all you will need to do is edit them to your satisfaction,” SAM offers.

She lets out a long, slow breath. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”

“It might also be helpful to know that your father would be proud of your conviction in your decisions and in your ability to coolly navigate all that you have faced thus far.”

She huffs out a bitter laugh. “Though not by how sarcastic I am about it, I’m sure.”

“I believe that he would appreciate it as a valid defence mechanism,” says SAM. “He may not have liked yours or your brother’s inclination towards sarcasm but he did understand it.”

“Shit it feels weird hearing that from his AI rather than from the man himself,” she says. “I mean, obviously he’s dead but why the hell couldn’t he have said all this when he was alive? Why do I have to hear it from the little voice in my head?”

“Was that a rhetorical question, Avery?”

“Yes, SAM,” she says and she wishes that SAM had a head just so that she could pat it (and, yeah, it’s definitely weird how much affection she’s developed towards SAM, especially after it just killed her).

She yawns and stretches. “You’re capable of stopping my heart, SAM. Are you also able to boost my melatonin levels to get me to sleep?”

“I am. Would you like me to?”

Tempting. Definitely tempting. “I feel like that’s probably a bad idea to be honest. Like it could be more harmful than sleeping pills? Addictive?”

“I do not believe that you could become physically addicted but the emotional and psychological implications are certainly something to consider.”

“Table it for now, SAM. Maybe talk about it with Lexi? If she’s not still cranky with you for killing me.”

“I will.”

She leans back into her chair, tilting the backrest so that she can look up at the ceiling. Talking with SAM is always interesting. Often nice. But he’s not a therapist, and not a pillar to offer her the kind of support she needs right now, either. She appreciates him of course. Appreciates that his reason mirrors her own, mirrors her father, probably even her mother too (definitely not Scott, though; he was always one to follow his heart more than his head). But, she’s still so fucking tense, still so thoroughly done (again, she’s not) and there’s nothing SAM can do to stop her from thinking, thinking, _thinking_. Because if there’s one thing Avery Ryder’s good at, it’s over thinking things to the point where her own body will suffer under the weight of her stupid, analytical mind.

_“Complicated? Except it’s not. Leaving my scouts behind was worse than killing them outright.”_

_Unclench your jaw._

She closes her eyes and lets out a groan of frustration.

“Avery?” SAM’s voice is oddly soft, as though it knows that she’s a hair away from snapping (and, yeah, it definitely does know that as sure as it can feel the tension that she carries in her overburdened shoulders and behind her overtired eyes).

“What is it, SAM?”

“Mr Kosta is at the door. He requests entrance.”

She lets out a snort. “SAM, you don’t need to call my boyfriend ‘Mr Kosta’. Way too formal.”

“Very well. Avery, _your boyfriend_ is at the door. _Your boyfriend_ requests entrance.”

She smiles. “Sometimes you are inadvertently the most sarcastic little shit, SAM, and I love it. Let him in, please.”

She’s still looking up at the ceiling when Liam enters and she doesn’t stop until his face comes into view above her own and he leans down to give her a swift upside down kiss. (And, _seriously_ , she doesn’t think she’ll ever be over the fact that she can kiss him basically whenever she wants now, and that she can think of herself as his without the anxiety of wondering whether he thinks of himself as hers. That security … is fucking nice.)

“How’re you doing?” he asks.

She groans, sits up and swivels her chair around so that she can look at him properly. “Honestly?”

He squats down in front of her, takes her hands in his and kisses both of them in turn. “Always.”

She sighs. “I’m a little pissed off.”

“Understandable,” he says, nodding. “Which particular part of that mess is pissing you off?”

His fingers are tracing little swirly patterns on her hands. Which is nice; a little tickly, but it definitely feels nice. And also distracting. Which is bad. Because, she realises, she needs to get this out. She reluctantly detaches her hands from his and rubs at her face. “All of it was a pretty infuriating,” she groans, her voice muffled by the press of her palms against her mouth.

“Tell me about it. The kett fucking suck.”

“Yeah. But it’s mostly the whole saving Raeka or saving Drack’s scouts part that’s fucking me up.”

“It was a tough decision to make,” he says. “Wouldn’t have been able to do it myself. I probably would have tried to save both and gotten everyone killed.”

Despite herself, she laughs. “Sounds like something you’d do.” She uncovers her face and lets her hands fall to her lap. “The thing is, though, it wasn’t a tough decision for me to make. Not at all. Someone as talented and capable as Raeka is sorely needed. Not just by the salarians, but the whole damn Initiative. Including the krogan. I don’t have any doubts about my decision. I’m just so fucking… _ugh_.”

He crosses his arms over her knees and rests his chin on them, gazing up at her with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I heard Drack didn’t take it well.”

“Of course he didn’t,” she says. “And even though I’m still super pissed at him for what he said, it’s understandable. It really is.” She takes a deep breath to try to stem the flood that she can feel building up in her throat. Doesn’t help. “But, fucking hell, does anyone really think I _want_ to make these decisions? I didn’t choose this. My father forced this on me for some fucking reason and everyone’s so happy to lump all the responsibility onto my shoulders but the second I make a decision that they’re not happy with, it’s like I’m the worst person who’s ever existed and of course I must do the things that I do because I just want to screw everyone over. I couldn’t possibly do anything for any other reason apart from the very obvious fact that I’m a huge fucking jerk, right?” Her voice rises and she’s almost ashamed of that but bellowing out her frustration feels too damn cathartic to stop. “Does Drack really think I was thinking about _him_ when I made my decision? Because I wasn’t, I really wasn’t. I was thinking about the entire Initiative like I always have to and, I’m sorry but – wait, no, fuck that, I’m _not_ sorry – if you make me choose between some scouts and the most capable Pathfinder I’ve yet to meet, I’m going to choose the Pathfinder _every fucking time_.”

_Unclench your jaw, damn it._

“Hey, come here, come here.”

She’s shaking, she realises, as Liam stands and pulls her up with him, enveloping her in a hug that would make her cry if she were any more than 17% an emotional being.

“Sorry,” she mumbles into his chest as he rubs a hand up and down her back and uses the other to cradle the back of her head.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t you ever apologise for that. It’s what I’m here for, okay?”

She clenches her fist around a handful of his shirt and nods. “Okay.”

“You feel better after that?”

She sighs. “Slightly.”

His fingers push into the muscles of her back. “You’re _really_ tense.”

“I’m really _stressed_ ,” she says, then shrugs. “Who would’ve thought that being Pathfinder could be so damn stressful?”

“Definitely wasn’t in the brochures,” he says then urges her head from his chest so that he can press a hard kiss to her brow. “Let me help.”

“You _are_ helping. Just having you here… It makes it easier.”

“Tell that to your muscles then,” he says as the hand at the back of her head strays down to her neck, fingers probing.

“I could probably get SAM to do that, actually,” she says. “But we’ve decided to hold off on the AI intervention for the moment.”

“Probably a good idea after–” He cuts himself off and shakes his head as though to banish the thought of her most recent death from his mind. “Nope, not thinking about _that_. How can I help you relax? A massage? I’m pretty good.”

“Strangely enough, not a fan of massages,” she says.

He frowns down at her. “Well that sounds fake but okay…” He clicks his tongue. “There’s gotta be something, though. What do you usually do to relieve stress?”

She unclenches her hand and uses it to hide the grin that she can’t stop from spreading wide across her face. Because, well, there has always been one thing in particular that is absolutely guaranteed to relax her.

Her shoulders shake with silent laughter as she watches Liam’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Of course!” she says “It’s the body’s natural stress reliever.”

He gapes down at her for a moment before declaring, “Hot.” And before she knows it, he’s hoisting her up into his arms and carrying her towards her bed.

She clamps her legs around his waist and looks down at him, an eyebrow raised. “Really?”

“Hell yeah,” he replies easily, then a little more wary, “I mean, if you want.”

She smiles as gently as she can under the circumstances (still tense, still slightly pissed off, but suddenly also turned on) and kisses him. “Oh, I want.”

“Good,” he says and tosses her down onto the bed.

She lets out a surprised giggle as she bounces on the mattress and he follows her down, covering her body with his own and covering her mouth with a searing kiss that leaves her breathless and yearning and greedy for more. Which he provides. Because he’s definitely a giver this one. And a keeper. And a fucking wonder and, shit, every time it slips her mind exactly how great a kisser he is he does _that_ – the delicate slide of his tongue along the seam of her mouth, coaxing her to open for him, coaxing a moan out of her – and she’s reminded all over again just how fucking lucky she is to have this glorious man in her bed, her life, her heart.

“I swear you can go from zero to a hundred in no time at all,” she says when his lips stray down to her throat.

“When am I _ever_ zero?” he mumbles into her skin and she has to concede that he’s got a point there. “Plus, it’s for your benefit so why are you complaining?”

“Oh, definitely not complaining. Just making an observation.”

His lips reach the collar of her shirt. “Can I get rid of this?”

“Only if I can take this off,” she says, giving his shirt a tug.

He props himself up on his hands and grins down at her. “Seems like a fair trade,” he says and swoops down to give her a kiss before rising to a kneel between her legs. She sits up with him, hands sliding underneath his shirt then rising to slip it off. Once it’s gone, she lets her hands wander across his chest as she reels him in for a kiss. She _adores_ his body, the way it feels; smooth and hard and so, so tactile under her probing fingers. He’s slim but strong, and his skin – a deep olive-hued brown that echoes the shade of her own if not the tone – is just gorgeous. He’s not huge and overly muscular or hairy like a lot of the guys she was unfortunate enough to meet (and, yeah, sometimes fuck) in the Alliance and he is all the more attractive for that difference.

She has to pull back from the kiss as he lifts her shirt up and over her head, but she’s right back to where she wants to be as soon as her shirt’s out of the way. The fluid glide of his tongue against hers has her groaning openly into his mouth and it’s honestly so strange to think how silent she used to be during sex before him. She just cannot even conceive of how and why she used to think that unsatisfactory sex was okay and normal. And she definitely still blames herself a little for that but there’s also a growing anger and resentment towards her past lovers because how the fuck could they enjoy rutting into her like they would when she was basically just twiddling her thumbs, whiling away the minutes until they were done and she could get her pants back on? Ah well, definitely not something she has to worry about anymore.

Her bra is undone with that marvellous flick of Liam’s fingers – yep, still impressive how quickly he can do that – and soon it goes to wherever the rest of their discarded clothes have ended up (they’re in her room somewhere, obviously; the specifics aren’t important at this particular moment nor, probably, for the rest of the night and, if for some stupid reason they have trouble finding them, she can always ask SAM to review the logs and tell them where to look because that’s definitely an important use of its core functions). Her pants and underwear join them too, and his pants as well, but he won’t let her pull off the boxer briefs that she procured from him weeks ago. “Just let me focus on you, okay?”

And she nods. Because she’s tired and stressed and turned on and, yep, a little bit greedy right now and as he pushes her onto her back and settles onto his side next to her she can’t help the thrill that spreads out from her tummy all the way to the tips of her toes and fingers and she reassures herself, _He’s good at this. He’s good at this. It’ll work. He’ll rock your world and then you’ll be able to sleep._ And it sounds so formulaic but, the look in his eyes as his hand drifts down below her bellybutton shows that it’s so much more than that to him.

The first sweep of his finger along the length of her opening has her reeling and he smothers the little, desperate sound that she makes with a kiss that earns him an even louder, desperate sound. And when the tip of his finger circles her clit – so slow and so soft and barely there but _right there_ – she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth.

“There?” he breathes against her lips.

And that question will never fail to destroy her.

She closes her eyes and nods. Of course he’s there. Because he’s a quick learner and he hasn’t really needed the direction since that first time months ago but he usually asks all the same; probably because he thinks that it’s hot (and, well, yeah, she thinks it’s hot too so she’s not about to tell him to stop). And right now he’s got everything perfect – the pressure, the pattern, the positioning – and it feels so damn good and she’s so damn close to just letting herself sink right into it but… _fuck_.

_“And you’re not the one who has to explain it to the rest of the clan.”_

_Fuck, fuckity, fuck fuck fuck. Unclench your fucking jaw._

Liam’s finger stills. “Stop.”

Her eyes snap open and she frowns up at him. “What?”

He gives her a soft smile and an even softer kiss. “ _Thinking_.”

She huffs out a laugh through her nose. “You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

“Of course. Avery ‘Can’t Shut Off Her Brain’ Ryder.” He moves his finger ever so slightly, a tiny swirl that leaves her aching for more. “You’re still wound so tight – not in the good way – and it’s all because you won’t get out of your head.”

She wrinkles up her nose and gives him a small, uncertain smile. “Sorry.”

“No,” he says, kissing her so fiercely that she actually whimpers when he stops. “Don’t apologise. Just tell me what to do to help you relax. I’ll do anything.” He presses a trail of kisses down her throat, only pausing to suck once he’s gotten below her collar bone. (He’s pretty courteous about leaving marks now, always remembers to leave them where they won’t be seen by anyone but them. Definitely a keeper, this one.) He stops just shy of her breast and rumbles into her skin, “Tell me.”

There’s something about his voice that just … _gets_ to her, in all the right ways. And it’s probably ridiculous but it gives her an idea that might work. “Just … keep talking,”

He gives her a bemused look. “Oh? Has someone developed a kink for my voice?”

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

“So, what is it?” he laughs. “Keep talking? Or shut up?”

“Oh, my god,” she says, slapping her hand down onto the mattress, and she’s disappointed with the dull sound that it makes, but it still manages to emphasise her point. “You are _such_ a jackass.”

“Maybe,” he says, shrugging. “But you like me.” And he dips his head down to suck her nipple into his mouth and goddamn does that send sparks of electricity coursing through her whole body.

“Obviously,” she moans, letting her head fall back.

“So…?” he prods, the word thrumming, vibrating against the tip of her breast.

“Please. Keep talking. It’ll distract me from whatever’s going on in my head.”

“Okay then…” He gives her nipple one last sweep of his tongue before he rises to lay his lips against her temple. His finger starts to move again then, so softly that she has to concentrate hard to even barely feel the motions and shit does this man know exactly what she likes, exactly what she needs. “Have I ever told you about that scarred-up turian merc–”

She can’t stop the laugh that bursts out from her, no matter how hard she tries. She turns her face towards him so that she can glare at him. “No! Not that story.”

“Hey, it’s a good story…”

“It is but, _come on_ , you’re trying to accomplish something here and that story is not going to work.”

He shrugs. “Seems to me that you’re more relaxed than you were a moment ago.” And, shit, he’s actually right. “But fine, if you insist, not the turian story. Hm. Okay, got something. Have I ever told you about how beautiful you are?”

Her breath comes out in a startled whoosh and all she can do is stare at him, her eyes wide, because no one who didn’t _have_ to think that (her mum, dad, grandparents) has ever called her beautiful before.

“I haven’t? Shit. See, that’s a good one.” He rubs tight circles just above her clit and she arches into the contact, desperate and needy. “Let me tell you. The first time I saw you, I could not believe my eyes. How could one person be _that_ beautiful?”

“I-I’m not,” she says, and the stammer is half from embarrassment and half from just how goddamned turned on she is right now.

“ _My_ story, Avery,” he says. “So let me tell it. Everything about you is just so bloody beautiful. Your eyes? Don’t even get me started. Your nose? So damn cute.” He tilts her chin so that he can hover his mouth above hers, just shy of touching. “Your lips…” he breathes, “fucking incredible.” And it’s her that closes the distance between them, that initiates the hot, open-mouthed kiss that’s both messy and perfect at the same time and damn _goddamn_ his finger his lips his heat his everything is her entire world right now nothing else matters. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

He pries his mouth from hers and the fact that he’s breathless sends a thrum of pleasure straight to where his finger is stroking her in tight, tight circles that amplify the tight, tight coiling of pleasure that’s radiating out from her core. “And then once I got to know you,” he continues, “got to know how smart you are, how funny, kind, capable and remarkable you are, all I could do was hope that one day you’d let me kiss you, let me touch you, let me … well, do _this_ to you.” And he increases the tempo of his clever, clever finger just enough to have her gasping in a breath that she holds and holds and holds before letting it out with a protracted moan. “And now that you’ve let me do this to you, I can’t get over how amazing you are, how amazing _we_ are when we’re together.” He moves suddenly, shifts himself so that he’s kneeling between her outstretched legs.

“Liam, don’t stop,” she gasps, despite the fact that he’s not strayed from his mark by even a single centimetre (and _how_ he remains to be so coordinated during sex, she still has no fucking clue because she’s a fucking mess all the damn time and right now especially).

“Never would,” he says and he pulls a cry from her as he presses down just that little bit harder. “Shit, you’re so beautiful right now and you don’t even know it.”

“Oh, _ohh_ ,” she moans, and she finds her hips rolling and grinding against him, adding a delicious counterpoint to his motions.

“The way you look,” he says. “The way you move…” He runs his unoccupied hand over her undulating hips. “The way you taste…” He leans over her and licks into her slack mouth and holy hell she can feel it coming, feel it rising, feel _it_.

“Oh, fuck… Liam,” she pants. So close, so close, oh, so damn close.

“The way you feel…” he murmurs against her lips as he slides his free hand down to where his other is luring her ever closer to her inevitable release and slips a finger into her, curling it just right and…

She _shatters_. Just fucking falls right to pieces in his wonderful, talented hands and all she can do is gasp and moan as her core pulses with her release, her body and her biotics thrumming in tandem and, fucking hell, what a goddamn relief she feels as the endorphins and prolactin hit her hard. She vaguely hears him give a satisfied chuckle as he rolls off of her and stretches out beside her sated and supine form, but it barely registers above the whooshing of blood in her ears and the harsh hiss of her panting breaths as she tries to regain some semblance of control over herself.

When she finally comes down from her high, she opens her eyes to find him staring down at his own hand, a weird little frown between his eyes. “What?” His frown turns into a full-blown grin and he holds his index finger in front of her face. It takes her orgasm-hazed mind a second to realise what she’s looking at and even then she has no idea what it means. “Huh?” The pad of his finger is wrinkled?

“Waterlogged,” he laughs.

She blinks at him for a moment before comprehension dawns. “Oh, my god.” She covers her burning face with her hands.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says. “It just took a little longer than usual to get you there.”

She uncovers her face and gives him a smile that’s probably more than half-cringe. “Shit. Sorry. I’m– I _was_ really tense.”

“Hey, who’s complaining?”

She rolls onto her side so that they’re lying face to face. “Obviously not you,” she says as she lets her hand graze the front of his boxers. “But, are you really sure it’s okay?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, and accentuates his point with a swift kiss to her cheek. “It’s like… You know when you have a really hard day of work and at the end of it, you look down at your hands or your feet or whatever and you see that you’ve got a new callous and you’re like, ‘whatever, that’s okay, just goes to show how hard I worked today’? Well it’s like that. Only less permanent and more sexy.”

And she does not think anyone has ever made her laugh as much as this man. “Your mind is so beautifully strange, Kosta,” she says once her chuckles have subsided. She trails her fingers across his face, revelling in the contrast between the prickly stubble along his jaw line and the smooth expanse of clear skin on his cheeks. Once she reaches his chin, she pulls him in for a kiss and the little sigh that he lets out when their lips touch is, ugh, perfection. “So,” she says when they part, “want me to uh… return the favour?”

He takes her hand with his and laces their fingers together, resting them on the pillow between their heads. “It wasn’t a favour, Avery.”

“I know. But I could…?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“You don’t want to?”

“Always. But this is about you.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “I thought it was always supposed to be about _us_.”

“Everything’s about us,” he agrees. “But tonight’s specifically about the first letter of us.”

She presses their entwined hands to her mouth to muffle her chuckle. He will be the death of her and she’s not sure she’ll even care when it happens because all of this would make it well worth it.

“So … voice kink?” he probes. “That was fun.”

She gives his hand a hard squeeze as she desperately tries to stop the laughter from bubbling up to the surface again but at this point her smile is probably wider than his. “Stop it.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” he says. “It was hot from my end, too.”

She sighs. “It’s not a voice kink, okay? I just needed something to help me relax and your voice does exactly that. It’s nice. And familiar. And, yes, your accent’s sexy and… _shit_ , that sounds exactly like a voice kink, doesn’t it?”

“A little bit, yeah,” he laughs. “But, like I said, I’m not judging.”

“Well, thanks for that.” She gives him a sleepy smile and presses a kiss to his hand.

“Tired?”

“Hmm,” she murmurs.

“So, it worked. You feel a little better?”

“For the moment,” she says. “I’m sure I’ll over think and stress myself out again tomorrow, though.”

“So should we leave it to tomorrow to talk about the fact that you died, like, right in front of me?”

She groans. _Oh, that whole other thing…_ “Yes, please. Tomorrow.”

“Then after that I can…” He wriggles his fingers in her grasp and she lets out a snort of laughter.

“Look, I’m never going to say no to that because you’re damn good at it,” she says, “but it’s going to seem like I’m using you if you keep it up.”

He shrugs. “Happy to be used, to be honest.”

She leans in to kiss him. “Best boyfriend ever,” she whispers against his lips. She lets out a yawn as she settles back down. “Stay with me?”

“Of course.”

Then she turns her face and mumbles a single word into her pillow.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“Forever?” she says, and even to her own ears her voice sounds so fragile.

“Stay with you forever?”

She nods. “Hmm. I mean there’s more than enough room here for the two of us.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You mean abandon my precious storeroom to come live here?”

“Yeah…”

He grins, sits up, cups a hand around his mouth and bellows out, “Sorry, storeroom.” Then he rains kisses down all over her face until she’s a giggling, breathless mess. “Hell _fucking_ yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Of course! Who in their right mind would pass up the opportunity to live in the best cabin on the ship?”

“I knew you only wanted me for my digs,” she laughs. “I have one condition, though. That couch of yours? Stays in the storeroom. I’ve got an aesthetic to maintain here.”

“And it’s got an aesthetic to maintain where it is. Besides, I can’t take it out of its natural habitat.”

“Well as long as we’re clear about that.”

He smiles and rests a gentle kiss on her forehead. Then he runs a hand over her hair, gently untangling her tight curls. “Hey, want me to wrap your hair?”

“Yes, please,” she says through a yawn.

He rolls off the bed to get her silk scarf and she takes the opportunity to pull down the bedcovers and slink under them. The feeling of the crisp, clean sheets against her naked skin has her sighing, but when Liam returns and oh so gently wraps her hair for her that has her sighing even harder because she’s never met some who’s so fucking attentive and caring. “You have to start spritzing,” he says as he ties off the scarf.

“I know,” she says. “I’m waiting for Dr Camden to get aloe vera plants growing, though.” He lays down next to her again, and she turns towards him so that they are resting with their faces close enough that she can count the freckles on his cheeks. She gently tugs at a lock of his hair. “You should wrap too.”

“Nah. Keeping my hair that tidy would mess with my whole ‘I woke up like this’ look.”

She rolls her eyes. “Right. Because it totally doesn’t take you like an hour to get that look.”

He shrugs. “Being this pretty takes work.”

She presses a light kiss against his lips. “And you certainly are pretty.” She yawns long and hard and lets her eyes fall shut.

“You gonna be able to sleep?’

She nods. “Yeah.  Just … keep talking.”

“Can do.” He gathers her up to his chest and tucks her head underneath his chin. “Scarred-up turian merc story?”

“Okay… Scarred-up turian merc story. Go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Still running with the cabin music songs as titles thing and it's already starting to fall apart. But "subharmonics" is a sound term so I'm gonna claim that it fits even if it doesn't really.


End file.
